


start to flicker back into being

by ossapher



Series: The Macaroniverse -- Lams Modern AU [8]
Category: American Revolution RPF
Genre: Angst, John is seriously depressed, M/M, Pining, Sooooo much pining, and Alex has got it bad for him, boys without coping skills, with some major silliness
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-09
Updated: 2018-02-09
Packaged: 2019-03-15 18:28:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13619136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ossapher/pseuds/ossapher
Summary: John, in the depths of depression, grapples with an intensive EMT training course; Alex, in the trenches of law school, grapples with his feelings for John.





	start to flicker back into being

**Author's Note:**

> A great big thank you to the generous and brilliant [a-classic-fool](https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_classic_fool/pseuds/a_classic_fool) for the beta!
> 
>  
> 
> Alex has HIV in this verse—see the first story in the series for all relevant backstory. As a warning, both he and John get very down on themselves at various points throughout this story. Neither of them is in great mental health and their thoughts don't necessarily reflect reality.

Alex doesn’t know it yet, but this night’s going to haunt him.

Here’s how it happens: he comes home from school totally exhausted and just wanting to microwave something and eat it and start on his readings for tomorrow. John’s sitting at the kitchen table with all his books and notes from his new EMT course spread out over its surface. That alone is a positive change from the last several weeks, of which John has spent almost every waking moment in his room, out of Alex’s company.

(John smiles when he sees Alex coming towards him. There’s that. John doesn’t smile often and so Alex takes note. But that wasn’t the only factor, he’ll decide later. That can’t have been _why._ )

Between John's books and Alex's books, there isn’t actually any space on the table for Alex’s dinner plate. When John glances up and sees him, he says, “Fuck, sorry!” and starts picking up his own stuff and dropping it to the floor. It’s like he’s embarrassed to even be taking up space, and Alex’s stomach twists, because he’s had that impulse before. Only his reaction is to fight it, and fight everyone else: take up _more_ space, badger and berate and refuse to shut up.

He says, “Hey, hey, don't worry about it, it's at least half my mess, I mean, thank you, that’s—that’s good, thanks.” He sits. “Sorry for leaving my shit around all day,” he says, to pre-empt any further apologies from John. “So, how was Day One?”

“It was—I’m—I’m cautiously optimistic,” John says, with the air of a man trying not to jinx himself. Alex guesses that he’s better than cautiously optimistic, which is an amazing change from the past few weeks. John’s seemed so not-here, like some essential module of his very being has come unplugged. Even when Alex had seen him, something about him had just been motionless, slumped-over, still. Right now, he looks a lot more… not _happy_ , exactly, but sharp. Awake. He’s playing with the pen in his hand, sitting upright in his chair, eyes on Alex.

“Why cautious?”

John’s brow furrows. “I… it’s just early, I guess. I mean, things are…good so far.” He looks deeply discomfited.

Alex pivots. “Okay, uh, what are you studying?”

“Vital signs,” John says. “Normal ranges, how to measure them, very broadly what could be wrong if they’re off. And… and you?”

“Oh, more fucking torts, mostly,” Alex says cheerfully. “Although actually, in lecture today—” Without quite realizing it he starts monologuing, with several digressions about interesting points in the readings and how it relates to this other class that he’s taking as an elective, and then he realizes, shit, he doesn’t remember the citation for that, so he has to look it up immediately, so he opens up his briefcase and starts digging around, and before he knows it he’s sitting at the table, reading his article, his dinner apparently vanished into his mouth at some indeterminate point, and John’s reading his textbook quietly beside him. John looks troubled. He’s gripping his own wrist at an odd angle, occasionally grimacing.

"What's wrong? Is your wrist bothering you?"

“I can't find my own radial pulse,” John scowls. “I think that's a metaphor or something."

Alex laughs. "And the contortions?"

"Well, when I take somebody else's pulse they'll be facing me."

"Ah." Alex thinks for a moment. "Wanna try mine?"

John looks surprised, but then he smiles, and hey, that’s the second time in one night! “Sure, if you can spare the arm.”

“I think I can handle this one-handed,” Alex says, gesturing to the anthology in front of him. He offers his arm, looking away in a sudden and inexplicable burst of jitters, and a moment later John’s standing above him, his hand settling into position around his wrist. His fingers find the little knob of bone where Alex’s arm joins the base of his hand, and then John’s thumb slides just underneath, exploring the sensitive skin with gentle pressure.

(…is it just because John touched him? God, that’s embarrassing. He shares handshakes, fistbumps, backslaps on the daily. But there’s something special and intimate about the hollows of wrists, about the testimony of his own heartbeat under John’s thumb and _where the everloving fuck did that flowery-ass thought come from, Jesus, Alex, get it together_.

Yeah. That moment right there had definitely been an early warning sign. The opening motif of the prelude to— _no, NO, he is not doing this, he’s not thinking this way._ )

“Ah,” John breathes, with a satisfied look. “Got it. Uh, do you mind if I…?”

“Knock yourself out.”

John experiments with different hand positions, wrist angles, elbow angles, measuring at different points along his forearm, even with his arm above his head. “Sorry, am I distracting you?” he asks, as Alex placidly turns a page with his free hand.

“I am focus itself.” Alex is going to have to read this all again, he can tell. It’s not sticking in his brain.

“Okay, well, let me know!” John says. “FYI, your pulse is a little on the fast side.”

“This case is very exciting,” Alex lies.

John chuckles and shakes his head. “You do you, man.”

They spend another half-hour in companionable silence, Alex watching in amusement as John runs out of material to study and starts reading ahead in his textbook. But Alex’s long day is catching up with him, and he finds himself nodding over his own book, his margin notes growing illegible.

John’s voice is quiet, but it startles him.

“You know, this is the first time I’ve chosen to do something just because I wanted to,” he sighs. “My whole life, other people have been making the big decisions for me. Kinda pathetic, huh?”

Alex blearily considers the notion that it might be pathetic to choose to do something because someone else wants you to do it. It’s an unfamiliar idea, because it’s been a long time since he’s even had someone with enough stake in his life to want him to do… anything. He’s been sailing by his own compass since he was twelve. So, by John’s logic, Alex’s life has been pretty un-pathetic. But when Alex thinks about the loneliness that came with his independence, it just makes him feel hollowed-out, like he’s missing something, like he’s taught himself to go without in a way that has left him… stunted.

“I don’t think it makes you pathetic. I think it makes you loyal,” he says. “Undeservedly loyal, maybe. In any case, it’s worthwhile to try something new, right?”

“Better than sitting around unemployed all day, I guess.”

“Oh, gimme a fucking break,” Alex says, as John’s eyebrows shoot up. “It’s _way_ better than that. You like it! I can see you, you like it already.” When John doesn’t immediately reply, he presses his point. “Come on. You’ve been studying all night, haven’t you?”

“It’s an intensive course!”

“You’re a nerd for this shit, John, just admit it!”

John snorts, halfway between indignant and laughing. “Okay, so I’m a nerd for this shit. And what’s wrong with that?”

“Nothing,” Alex smiles. “Nothing’s wrong with it all. I’m glad that you have something to be a nerd about, now.”

John’s defensive expression softens, a light flush spreading over his face. “I sure might.”

“ _Sure might_ contradicts itself,” Alex points out. “You’re off to a great start already. I’m sure, and I’m not just saying that.”

John looks up at him cautiously. And then, for the third time that night, a small smile lifts the corners of his mouth. He reaches out and pats Alex’s arm. “Thank you.”

Eventually John rises to go to bed and Alex is left at the table alone, his mind buzzing insistently like he’s forgotten something important, completely refusing to focus on the rest of his reading. Well, he can finish it on the bus tomorrow. He glances over his to-do list for the day and finds it otherwise completed, which is a minor miracle in its own right. If there’s something important, he must have it on his to-do list, ergo, he must not have forgotten anything, ergo, he should follow John’s example, especially since he was falling asleep sitting up earlier.

And here it is, the exact moment realizes. He's in the shower, his tired brain replaying snippets of his day at random. The slideshow pauses at the moment that John found Alex's pulse, and a vague suspicion begins to cohere in Alex’s mind.

Is John…interested in him?

The thought is…well, not _alarming_ , but it’s definitely _new_. But look, look, the invisible slideshow projectionist in his head is saying, jumping up and down and pointing emphatically as the conversation resumes in freeze-frame. Look at this, look at the way he touched you, look how long he kept his hands on you. Think about that thrill you had when he was standing over you, don’t get me started on all the lizard-brain processing that went into that thrill, that shit’s meaningful, that’s _instinct_ . See this here, where he smiles at you _on three separate occasions in one night_? And how often has he been smiling lately, huh? Look at how his face flushes when you tease him, he’s not embarrassed, he’s happy, he’s flustered, he’s so fucking cute—

Alex’s whole body feels squirmy with excitement. _John’s into me_.

He’s finished with his shampoo, so he shuts off the water and steps out of the shower.

It’s a delightful feeling, being liked, and Alex luxuriates in it as he towels himself off and wrings the water from his hair. He’s never quite gotten used to it, even now that he’s successful and charismatic and charming and people flirt with him all the time. But there’s a difference between flirting and liking. Flirtation is, in a lot of cases, a kind of flattery. It’s a tool people use to get what they want, and Alex is pretty damn good at it when he wants to be. People will flirt with him because they can see he's on the rise, because they think his friendship will be advantageous to them one day, because he's already got a little power now with this journal editor thing he’s doing in his spare time and because they think they can get favors.

But John’s not really flirting here, Alex realizes, as he pulls on his pajamas and starts brushing his teeth. For one, Alex is pretty sure he doesn’t realize what he’s doing — dude’s seriously personally depleted right now, clearly not in the mood to be making moves; Alex is just praying he can get through this EMT course okay. And John’s dropped out of law school, so it’s not like he has an ulterior motive… like, he’s not fucking with Alex to try and mess with his GPA, or trying to get closer so Alex will help him out with the tough assignments. He’s unlikely to have been impressed by the super-impressive persona that Alex has built for himself, because he regularly sees Alex at home and unguarded, studying in his glasses and his sweats without a single thought left to spare for being charming. And…and he knows that Alex has HIV already. So the fact that John is still interested after all _that_ bullshit is…well, it’s…it’s…

It’s really fucking gratifying, is what it is.

Alex spits in the sink and rinses his mouth. He’s in the homestretch now. The bed waiting for him just down the hall may be a squeaky twin, but that’s not going to matter one bit when he’s unconscious in it. Alex staggers zombielike down the hall, slips into his dark bedroom, burrows under the covers, and at last allows himself a deeply contented sigh. Holy shit, he thinks, staring at the ceiling of his bedroom, John _likes_ him.

And as tired as he is, as much as his body is pleading with him to sleep, he can’t quite manage it—and even crazier, he’s not even mad! In fact, judging by the sudden flood of giddiness he’s experiencing…it’s time to consider the notion that Alex likes John, too.

(Oh, shit. Is _that_ why Alex fell for him? Just because he thought John liked him? Sifting through his thoughts later, at his lowest, Alex will entertain the theory. Forget what John said earlier, _that’s_ truly pathetic. So desperate for, for whatever, for whatever thing he thinks John can give him that he doesn’t even care what the source is. Desperate and disgusting.)

Now, that’s a bit of a twist. Does Alex find men physically attractive? Yeah, sure. He’s thrown more than one admiring look at Herc’s biceps, and his interactions with Aaron Burr had, in retrospect, been a deeply confusing experience all-around, and yeah, he’s made out with a few guys at parties—hell, he’s drunkenly blown one or three.

But as far as, like, feelings go? He’s always been way more comfortable with women. The idea of being in a relationship with a guy, the kind where you talk about yourself and listen to the other person talk about themself and like…cuddle and shit, that’s the kind of thing that he’s always pictured—insofar as he’s even allowed himself to picture it—with a woman. So it really depends here on what John wants. And Alex needs to be logical about this. Something purely physical, something with no strings attached, would be a nice way to blow off steam, but he seriously doubts John would be into that given Alex’s HIV, and there’s no fucking way he’s going to freak the poor guy out by bringing it up out of nowhere. His options here are…limited.

And speaking of reality, he can’t forget that John’s his roommate. They have a solid roommate-type relationship, all things considered. Yeah, John’s been unsociable lately, but that’s understandable, and Alex isn’t about to get on his ass as long as he pays his half of the rent on time and doesn’t leave his shit in the common areas. Mostly, Alex has been worried about him, caught in that indecisive limbo between wanting to do something to help and not knowing how he _can_ help and wondering if it’s even his business. He’s not sure what his priorities are—whether he should be preserving the peace and good roommate situation above all else, or whether he should see how this whole _mutual interest_ thing goes down.

And there’s also John’s well-being to consider. He seems to be on the upswing—which is a huge deal considering how deep the downswing went—but Alex can’t ignore that he’s been basically non-functional for the last month. It could be that once he starts feeling better he’ll come to his senses and realize he can do a whole lot more with his life without Alex, like Angelica did, and Alex would hate to have locked him into a subpar relationship in the meantime.

Suddenly the fluttering excitement in his gut is a lot less welcome. It sours and sharpens, transforming into anxiety. John’s interested in him. Alex, in spite of his own better judgement, is pretty psyched about this. But there are no good moves here, and you know what? He has to be in at eight tomorrow and his commute is almost an hour. He doesn’t have time to get this straight in his head. The bus ride is looking like the time and place to figure it all out… right after he finishes the reading he didn’t finish tonight, shit.

He knows he shouldn’t be checking his phone, knows it doesn’t matter and the light is only going to further fuck his ability to fall asleep, but some morbid curiosity drives him to roll over and check the time. Yup, 2:37 a.m. Great. Great, great, great. As he watches, the number changes to 2:38.

And he realizes, with a falling stomach, that it’s January 12.

It’s funny—growing up, Alex’s life never seemed to change gradually. There was no gentle growth and development, no subtle slides from one status quo to a slightly different one. There were just cataclysms and reactions to them. His childhood is full of befores and afters. Before his diagnosis, which he doesn’t even remember. Before his dad left. Before his mom died. The dates, even years later, have a shuddery kind of significance.

But this isn’t one of those dates. January 12th is, in fact, the day after his birthday, and here’s the thing: he’s forgotten his birthday.

Self-pity floods his mind, and _no, no, no_ , he doesn’t want to go down that path, not right now. He scrambles for a positive thought in an attempt to counteract it, and settles on the fact that, hey, despite having been 23 for less than a day, he’s hit some milestones already! John’s the first person who’s made the first move on him already knowing his situation. And it’s the first time that Alex has been in definite mutual interest with a guy, with the possible exception of Burr, but again, Alex has no fucking idea what was going on there. He likes to note milestones—they make him feel accomplished, like he’s advancing through his allotted years on earth instead of just wandering around in them.

But, try as he might, those accomplishments can’t stand against crushing existential sadness that comes on as he closes his eyes and wills himself to fall asleep. He forgot his birthday and nobody else remembered. Nobody called. Nobody sent him a card in the mail. Jamie didn’t even text.

 _Would you quit it with the wallowing?_ he tells himself. _Think of all the good things you have. A roof over your head. Money in the bank. Amazing extracurriculars. Very competitive grades. Glowing letters of recommendation. A vision for your life. The respect and/or fear of the rest of your cohort. In short, Alexander, you possess both great ambition and the means to achieve it. You are doing fucking great. And now in addition to all those things, you have John Laurens’… well, to be determined._

_And however the Laurens situation turns out, whether it’s good or bad or somewhere in between, you’re not going to lose everything. You’re not. That won’t happen again. You may not have anybody who gives enough of a shit to remember your birthday, including yourself, but by God, you have all the resources and skills that you need to protect and provide for yourself, and that’s what really matters. You have enough!_

Alex takes a deep breath. Yes. If he concentrates very hard on maintaining that idea, and uses his best mental sleight-of-hand to push the gnawing feeling in his stomach far, far out of his awareness, he can practically believe that.

And with that (almost) comforting thought, he finally drifts off to sleep.

 


End file.
